Josiah for President

by Martha Bolton

  STILL STINGING FROM HIS DEVASTATING LOSS, READING THE DAILY reports of all the happenings at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was adding insult to injury for Harley.

  “It’s not that I have anything against his leadership,” Harley said to a group of congressmen when they met over dinner one evening during a break from an exceptionally long session. “There are some matters I would have handled differently, but he’s doing as well as any inexperienced outsider could be expected to do.”

  “His performance ratings are through the roof, Harley,” one of them noted.

  “Well, yes,” Harley said. “But he’s still on his honeymoon with the country and the press. It’ll wear off.”

  “Not in the near future, Harley,” another congressman interjected. “He did win by a sizable margin. The people like him.”

  “Well, all I know is there are a lot of folks who are indignant over these little additions to the White House and its grounds.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I kinda like seeing the horses grazing on the lawn. Very pastoral,” another congressman said.

  “It’s the White House,” Harley reminded them all.

  “I know, but they fenced off an area for the animals, so I don’t really see that they’re hurting anything.”

  The Amish were known for their pristine landscaping and housekeeping. Harley knew he couldn’t go there. So he stayed on the subject of the animals.

  “Horses and goats at the executive mansion? Something has to be done to stop this madness,” he said.

  It didn’t matter that the White House had a long history of being the temporary home to a variety of farm and ranch animals.

  “Kennedy owned a horse,” said one congressman.

  “That’s right,” concurred another. “And two ponies.”

  “Calvin Coolidge, he had a donkey, right?” the first congressman said.

  “And a pet bobcat named Smokey.”

  “Woodrow Wilson owned some sheep and a ram,” said a third congressman. “And William Taft kept a cow at the White House.”

  “And don’t forget, Benjamin Harrison had a billy goat named Old Whiskers,” said the second congressman.

  “And your point?” Harley pressed.

  “Go back through presidential history, and you’ll see farm animals were quite commonplace at the executive mansion, Harley,” the first congressman said.

  Even Josiah’s barn wasn’t setting any real precedents. The original White House stables had burned down in a fire during Lincoln’s term, and it wasn’t until the Taft administration that a second stable was converted into a garage for the most modern mode of presidential transportation that appeared on the scene — the presidential motorcar. If the nation was going to truly get back to basics, most would have said this was an excellent start.

  JOSIAH WAS MAKING OTHER CHANGES IN THE COUNTRY TOO. With the Amish man in office, the people felt hopeful about the future, and the economy slowly began to improve. People were spending again, especially in the Amish-themed stores that were popping up all across the country. Hat, bonnet, apron, Amish furniture … even buggy sales were continuing to soar.

  Things were almost too good. And in the world of politics, that usually meant someone was fixing to stir up the pot. Josiah’s honeymoon didn’t even last the full one hundred days. The media, hungry for fresh headlines, started searching around for something other than the Amish angle to talk about. With vigor, some in the media began to criticize Josiah’s decisions, his policies, and anything else it could.

  “If President Stoltzfus decides to veto the Riley-Turner bill, his decision will have long-term consequences for the stability of our educational system. But what can we expect from a man with only an eighth-grade education?”

  “The infrastructure of our country is in dire need of repair. These projects will put America back to work. President Stoltzfus needs to quit building barns and start building bridges!”

  At first Josiah took the criticisms in stride. The constructive ones, anyway. If there was any truth in any of them, he figured the assessments would help him improve his style of governing.

  One criticism, however, he ignored completely. And that was the pending veto of the Riley-Turner bill. He was entrenched in his no.

  “When’s the president going to sign the bill?” supporters of the bill asked.

  “He’s on farm time,” Mark said in Josiah’s defense. “You don’t harvest until it’s ready. It’s not ready, gentlemen.”

  Josiah knew he was gaining a reputation for not moving very fast when it came to signing or vetoing a bill. He would read it — every word of it — and then seek advice from his trusted advisers. His advisers consisted of a handful of professionals and political figures. He’d also run some of these matters by Elizabeth. She was his stabilizer in the common-sense department. And he’d pray. But he wouldn’t sign any bill while it was still green on the vine. Josiah said that that kind of fruit would just give the nation a bellyache, and he was a better farmer than that.

  This “procrastination,” as those in the media would label it, annoyed some people. But Josiah figured it was important to know what he signed or didn’t sign. And why.

  When it became clear, though, that the comments from certain reporters and political pundits were getting heavier on criticism and lighter on constructiveness, the comments began to take their toll on Josiah. The stress began to show on his face, as it had on many presidents before him. He could no longer hide how the office was changing him.

  STORMCLOUD44/BLOG

  The president has not listened, like those who have gone before him. They do not listen. They see only with their clouded eyes of tyranny. Let them try to rip our destiny from our clenched fists, but we will not relinquish it. Our time to act is now. You will hear us, Mr. President.

  “HOW ARE YOU FEELING?” ELIZABETH ASKED JOSIAH ONE NIGHT when he retired to bed looking especially exhausted.

  “All right, I guess,” he said.

  “You look tired.”

  “It shows?”

  “Jah. On your face, around your eyes mostly.”

  “Older?”

  “Just as handsome, though.”

  “There was stress on the farm,” Josiah reminded her.

  “I know. But this stress is different. It leaves deeper trails.”

  Elizabeth had put her finger on a simple fact of Washington life. Compare a photograph of any president on his Inauguration Day to a photo of him by the end of his term, and most observers could see that the office did indeed age its leaders.

  “Maybe I’m the smartest president of all then.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ve not posed to have my picture taken.”

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, A LETTER ARRIVED IN THE WHITE HOUSE mail. It was from Bishop Miller.

  “Dear President Josiah,” it began, respectfully. “It is because of my love for you and Elizabeth and my faith in the goodness of your heart that I have postponed disciplinary action. It pains me to begin the process today. I will keep you informed of any formal decisions I make. I trust you will understand, and while I know it is your desire to continue the Amish lifestyle, you will do so without the benefit of community as long as you serve as president.”

  Although Josiah had always known this day was coming, it still crushed his spirit.

  VICE PRESIDENT STEDMAN WAS MORE THAN SATISFIED WITH HIS presidential choice. He firmly believed that Josiah was the man America needed to lead her, and he was proud to be watching his dream being played out in reality.

  “See, I told you I could take a backseat to someone like Josiah,” he said to Cindy over lunch one day.

  “You think you’ll run next time?” she asked. “Josiah said he’d only serve one term.”

  “Let’s get through this term first,” Mark laughed.

  HARLEY PHILLIPS WAS PLEASED WHEN HE RECEIVED HIS INVITATION to attend a White House dinner given in honor of the Swedish prime minister. It didn’t matter which party was in the Wh
ite House, Harley always enjoyed being a part of the inner circle at these prestigious events. He usually made a good impression on foreign dignitaries and other notable guests. Perhaps they found his loud and blustery ways fascinating, or maybe they enjoyed the jokes he would often share during dinner conversation. Whatever it was, Harley could be good company when he wanted to be.

  The invitation had been at Josiah’s specific request. In spite of the congressman’s vocal criticisms of Josiah, the president continued to graciously extend a hand of friendship toward him. Elizabeth had even assigned Harley the seat directly across the table from the prime minister, which Harley took as a gesture of goodwill.

  After a wonderful Amish-style family dinner, Harley flagged down one of the servers and requested some coffee.

  “Cream and sugar, sir?” the server asked.

  “Cream, please.”

  Harley didn’t like sugar in his coffee, but he did like cream. Three servings of cream, to be exact. Harley viewed his veins the same way he viewed his work in Congress — what’s one more clog blocking the flow?

  What happened next would be the topic of international curiosity for years to come. Harley took a sip of the coffee, grimaced, and then flagged down the server again.

  “I think I got some spoiled milk,” he said. The words were garbled as Harley tried to talk around the mouthful of coffee, but the waiter could make them out.

  “It’s not spoiled, sir,” the waiter said. “It’s goat milk.”

  “Goat milk!”

  Harley gagged and unintentionally spewed the mouthful of coffee across the table, spraying it all over the Swedish prime minister. Not since President George Bush Sr.’s unfortunate stomach incident in Japan with their prime minister had there been such a surprised and pitiful look on the face of a foreign dignitary. But at least George had been ill and unable to help it.

  Harley was mortified. He apologized profusely to the prime minister, who was now dripping in goat’s milk, coffee, and a healthy helping of humiliation.

  “I am so sorry,” Harley repeated to President Stoltzfus and the prime minister.

  The prime minister was trying to wipe himself off amid all the camera flashes, but the damage had already been done. The photo was a front-page news story the following day, with Harley passing the blame off on “that blasted goat” and, of course, on Josiah and his most unusual presidency.

  JOSIAH KNEW THERE WOULD BE MORE EVENTS AND DIGNITARIES to entertain at the White House, and hoped these would go off without a hitch. In fact, one such event was right around the corner.

  The media and White House staffers were all aflutter over the news of Queen Elizabeth’s upcoming visit to Washington. Even President Josiah and First Lady Elizabeth were looking forward to hosting England’s beloved queen in the nation’s capital.

  “What do you think she’d like to do while she’s here?” Elizabeth asked Josiah one evening over dinner.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe something she usually doesn’t get to do back home?”

  “But what could I possibly offer a queen?” Elizabeth said. “The closest we’ve ever come to meeting royalty was that man who visited Lancaster and claimed he was the king of some island — that island we never were able to find on a map.”

  “And if I recall, he didn’t drop any money into the Good Faith Jar for those three quarts of jelly he took, either.”

  “This royalty is real, though,” Elizabeth said.

  “Now Elizabeth, don’t forget she’s just one of God’s children, like me and you.”

  “I know. And well, maybe we do have something in common.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She wears head coverings too.”

  THE NEWS MEDIA DIDN’T MISS THE OPPORTUNITY TO FIND OTHER ways to compare the two Elizabeths. One, a descendant from royalty, lived in castles, basked in opulence, and was the rightful owner of a crown of jewels, no doubt worth millions. The other, a Plain woman, came from a modest house, was willing to do her own housework and cooking, and wore a simple handmade bonnet.

  It was soon discovered that Queen Elizabeth and the First Lady did share one more very definite interest.

  Nate, the campaign volunteer who had been so helpful and loyal during Josiah and Mark’s campaign, had been awarded the position of chief of staff, otherwise known as the White House press secretary. Nate was a terrific multitasker and seemed to have a natural flair for being a liaison between the press and the president. And he was punctual to a fault.

  When Nate tried to find the queen for a press photo op in the Rose Garden, he approached Charley Mulligan, a longtime White House staffer.

  “Have you seen the queen?” Nate asked.

  “She’s with the First Lady, sir,” Charley told him.

  “But I didn’t see either one of them in the Rose Garden,” Nate said. “The press is waiting.”

  “Try the Blue Room, sir,” Charley said.

  Nate walked briskly down the hallway toward the Blue Room, glancing at his watch at regular intervals as he went. He prided himself on having a good relationship with the press, and that included not wasting their time. If he told them 10:00 a.m., he wanted to make sure everything was in place and ready to go at 10:00 a.m. Not 10:02 or 10:15, but 10:00 sharp.

  When Nate arrived at the Blue Room and opened the door, he saw — to his astonishment — several members of the White House staff, as well as both Elizabeths, sitting in a circle quilting!

  “Yes, Nate?” the First Lady asked when she looked up and saw the chief of staff standing there gawking at them.

  “Uh, nothing, madam,” he said. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? The Queen of England was quilting? Could it really be true?

  Then, all of a sudden, it hit him. “Stay right where you are!” he said. “I’ll bring them in here! This is the photo op!”

  Nate had learned throughout the campaign how to handle the issue of photographs of the president and First Lady. He was sensitive to their beliefs on the subject, and whenever possible, he made sure they were positioned in such a way as to either get their profile or have the photo taken in shadows. Some photos of them still slipped through, but for the most part, the Amish couple’s wishes were honored.

  The sewing circle photo, with the First Lady’s head turning to the side at just the right moment, was featured on the Internet, television news programs, and print articles. It was an amazingly poignant photo.

  As Nate was ushering members of the media out the door, he overheard the two women chatting.

  “I never dreamed you were a quilter,” the First Lady said, as the two ladies continued their stitching.

  “Oh, there’s lots of things the world doesn’t know about me,” the queen said with a smile.

  “And me as well,” Elizabeth agreed.

  “For one thing, I get tired of wearing hats.”

  “Maybe you should try a bonnet.”

  “Maybe I shall,” the queen said. “And I read Amish romances.”

  “And I have at times gotten quite frustrated with my children.”

  “Oh, we shall have to talk.” The queen laughed.

  Nate chuckled to himself as he closed the door behind him.

  CONGRESSMAN HARLEY PHILLIPS WALKED DOWN A WHITE House hallway with Senator Bob Thorton from Florida, venting his frustrations.

  “I like him well enough, Senator, but this is Washington, D.C., not Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Isn’t there something we can do?”

  Just then, the First Kids ran across the hallway in front of them in a single line, giggling and playing as kids do.

  “I’m telling you, Bob,” Harley said, “not since Teddy Roosevelt’s brood was here have there been such goings on at the White House.”

  “They’re just being kids, Harley,” Bob said in a soothing tone. “And anyway, at least it was only a goat. Teddy’s youngins once tried to sneak a pony into the elevator.”

  Harley grunted, then paused at a window and looked out over the White House grounds. He had
a clear view of the barn, the goat, and the clothesline filled with Amish clothes flapping and drying in the breeze.

  “You’re telling me you approve of this, Senator?”

  The senator stepped closer to the window and took a look for himself.

  “You have to admit, Congressman,” he said, “there is a simplistic beauty about it.”

  “This is the White House, Senator. The White House! Is everyone forgetting that?”

  “He’s Amish,” Senator Thorton said. “He made no secret of the fact that he was going to bring his Plain ways with him to Washington. Now you know as well as I do that the country’s put up with worse than a clothesline from its presidents. From both parties. If you’ve forgotten some of those escapades, I’d be happy to remind you, Congressman.”

  Harley didn’t have a comeback, so he turned and walked off in a huff. A moment later, Senator Thorton called out after him, “You are coming to the barbecue Saturday, aren’t you, Congressman?”

  Harley’s only reply was a snarl and a dismissive gesture with the back of his hand. Middle-school behavior, to be sure, but it somehow made Harley feel better.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE STOLTZFUS BARBECUES HAD BECOME MUCH-ANTICIPATED events at the White House. If Josiah had had the time, he would have held one every week. But as it was, they came around about every other month or so. Government officials and their families, White House staff and their families, and Amish friends from Lancaster and neighboring communities would all gather on the White House lawn for a good old-fashioned Amish barbecue and fellowship. While Bishop Miller and other leaders of their community continued to oppose Josiah’s presidency and the threat of shunning still hung in the air, some of the Amish people, mostly Josiah and Elizabeth’s closest friends, were becoming more accepting of having one of their own in the White House. The barbecues were also a prime photo op to see the blending, however reluctant, of the two worlds.

  “Did you get enough barbecued chicken, Senator Thorton?” Josiah asked the senator as he walked by.

  “Three helpings, and I gotta call it quits.” The senator laughed.